


First Meeting and She's a Piece of Work

by firetoflame



Series: Their Love was Short and Sweet [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Meetings, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetoflame/pseuds/firetoflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't even know her, not really, and somehow she's ended up with his wand. He thinks maybe next time he'll listen when Sirius tells him his cousin is a real piece of work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is certainly nothing like withering the evening away by waiting for the arrival of new Order members, Remus decides, pulling a stray string from his jacket. Especially when said new members—the mysterious and elusive Tonks to be exact—turn out to be twenty-seven minutes late and he is forced to make idle chit chat with a crooked old woman who smells strongly of cat litter and moth balls.

Oh, yes, quite the adventure for a seasoned Order member. Perhaps next time he will be lucky enough to be put on potato peeling duty. He's heard that the last fellow put to work under Molly's instruction almost lost an eye, though Sirius' interpretations are often misguided and embellished after a pint of fire whiskey.

"Yes, quite warm," he mumbles under his breath, too aware that he's responded to the same question four times already.

He checks his watch again and the hands seem frozen in the same small space, but maybe he's just checking it too often, willing the clock to move against its will. Or for something to happen. Or . . . he tucks his hands into his pockets again, feeling the edge of his wand with the tips of his fingers.

"If you'll excuse me," he says softly, rising to his feet and bidding the woman a good evening.

He abandons the back-breaking seat on the bench, stretching beneath his clothes and wondering if that is the reason the woman sits so crippled, and moves on to a more secluded location: the forked alley at the end of the lane.

There's very little light here, and Remus thinks this may have been a better place to wait, seeing as the bench he chose was hidden beneath nothing but the only lamp on the street.

However, to his chagrin, the alley smells like burning vacuum cleaners and dog biscuits. It's not really a step up from the moth balls but the company is more familiar. Silence. He's grown accustom to silence over the years and it still comforts him when he thinks he should otherwise be unnerved.

Sirius hates the silence now and life in Grimmauld Place is always bouncing because of it, so Remus takes a moment to appreciate the nothingness of sound in the alley when suddenly he hears it: a loud crack, like the snap of a whip.

He turns towards the familiar sound, watching the other end of the cobble-turned trail where a silhouette bathed in white light has taken form against the nothingness. The shadow stumbles, reaching for the wall, and curses. The whispered murmur of a spell is the next to reach his ears as the halo of light disappears and with it, a distinctly pink hue.

 _At last_ , he thinks. She was only . . . well he couldn't make out his watch now, but surely more than a half hour late. _Still . . ._

It's his instinct that pulls his hand to his wand, fingers curling around the end like Devil's Snare around its prey. Sense tells him it's her. Experience tells him that friends betray friends where Voldemort is involved and one can never be too careful.

It's also dark and late, later than she should be arriving, so Remus takes the necessary precautions, the edge of a stunning spell lacing his gums.

He makes no movement but to back up, disappearing next to the rubbish bins that line the alley, a shadow under shadow, like grey twilight bleeding into black night.

His woolen jacket fades into the ashen hue of the stone brick that leeches a damp cold into his back, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the evening.

And really there's no need for jackets on a night like this, but his jumper is worn and threadbare in places: a patchwork of full moons and meager resources. So he wears it anyway. He wears it for the sense of security. He wears it because Lily once told him it made him look smart. He wears it because it's the perfect place to stow his wand after listening to Alastor rant about basic wand safety and lost buttocks.

He wears it because she doesn't see him as she stomps down the alley, making far too much noise considering her working job title: _Auror_.

She doesn't see as the wand is pulled from his pocket and pointed in her direction.

As she passes him, jammed up between the wall and the rubbish bins, the low hum of childhood songs slip into his consciousness, caressing his memories on a voice that is surprisingly delicate and altogether feminine.

She hums as she turns down the alley, taking the fork towards Grimmauld Place, and Remus follows, transfixed for a moment by her voice and the sweet smell of the perfume that lingers in her wake. He turns over his shoulder and casts a wary glance at the moon above. Five days from fullness and already his senses are more wolf than his own. He hasn't even technically met her yet, but already she's got his attention in a way that sends a nervous flutter into the pit of his stomach. The wolf bats these feelings away and stirs contentedly as he wanders after her, slinking in the shadows still.

Tonks' hand lunges into her coat pocket, wrapping around the hilt of her wand, but she doesn't draw it out, despite the person she senses on her trail.

She knows it's a _he_ because of his aftershave.

She hears the shuffle of his feet, the way his body shifts against the wall behind her. She knows he's there and that he follows, but the threat is low, for if this was anything more than Moody's greeting party she would have been laid out flat on her back with a stunner to the chest already.

And she isn't. This can only mean that her pursuer doesn't want her dead, which is good because she really isn't in the mood for a fight after spending the afternoon chasing false leads with Kingsley. As far as Scrimgeor now knows, Sirius Black is definitely not hiding out in the dragon compound in the Northern Mountains. And she definitely should have taken Kingsley up on his offer to escort her to St. Mungo's to have a look at the scorch on her arm where the dragon's hot breath left a raised patch of red bruises.

But she was already late. Really late. And eventually there wouldn't have been a point in coming at all. Plus she hated Healers and wasn't in the mood to deal with them tonight either.

So she had Apparated with her swollen, pulsing arm hidden beneath the length of her trench coat and proceeded to ignore the patter of feet behind her. That was until a hand touched her shoulder, spinning her into the wall.

She's pinned before she can react, surprised by the height of the man that towers over her. He's at least six feet tall, perhaps a little more—it's hard to tell in the dark—and definitely older than her, but not in a bad way.

He's lean, with long limbs and hair that falls just above his eyes, shadowing the look of warning he gives her.

"Who are you?" he breathes, the taste of tea and mint slipping over her lips.

She's stunned into silence by the proximity. So much of her job's done at an arm's length. She doesn't even know the last time she was this up close and personal with a Dark Wizard. They were usually running the other way with her stunning spells chasing after them.

He mistakes her silence for a threat and reaches for the arm that still digs in her pocket, grappling for her wand.

She hisses as he takes her arm and she drops her wand in reaction to the pain. His hand draws her arm against the wall and though she wants to momentarily scream, she swallows the rest of the cry and steels the tears that spring up behind her eyes.

Remus loosens his grip, wondering suddenly if the wolf has already invaded his basic instincts, and if his grip had been much tighter than he meant it to be.

"Nymphadora Tonks. Newest Order recruit," she gasps out from behind her teeth. "Mind letting me go?" She nods towards her arm. "Had a nasty run in with a dragon on the way here."

"Is that what held you up?" Remus asks, releasing his hold on her arm, but moving it towards the collar of her coat. His fingers tighten and the tip of his wand catches her throat.

Tonks glances down, only for a second, taking in the sharp angle of his wand, the tip grazing the silken edge of her neck, shaving down to her collar bone with each swallow, an easy trail to her heart should he need to act.

But she doesn't flinch, bringing her eyes back to his. They're brilliant blue, woken by the light of the moon that rises above, like the center of a flame left unattended, sparking and mysterious, but warm in a way she can't quite place. It might be the friendly nature of his smile, juxtaposed so unexpectedly against his tight hold on her collar.

"I take it Moody didn't tell you I was coming," she ventures, squirming a little under the weight of his body pressed against hers. His hold is firm and she shivers, though whether it's from the cold or not she doesn't know, because, as icy as the stones behind her back are, the space between them is crackling.

"Oh, he did. But you can never be too careful."

"I suppose." She swallows again and the wand drifts along her sternum.

"So, Nymphadora," Remus begins, but with a sharp shake of her head that has him tightening his grip on her, he cuts out.

"It's Tonks. Call me Nymphadora again and I'll hex you into oblivion."

"Noted." Remus dips his head slightly, enough for her to know that he's teasing her as he drawls out her last name and curls his lips, blinking away the devilish twinkle in his eye.

For a moment Tonks thinks the world has started to spin just a little bit slower, at least for her, as her breath drags out in a long, lingering gasp, and she wonders suddenly if her heart has skipped a few beats or if it's just taking its sweet time while she gawks at this stranger: the man that's entirely too strange, tiptoeing into her personal space and breathing down her neck like someone she wants to get to know, and yet not strange enough, holding her close as she attempts to tip away from him and towards him all at once.

"So, Tonks, fighting dragons were you?"

His eyes have that teasing twinkle in them again as he leans that much closer but before she can respond there's another _CRACK_ in the alley and the footsteps are brisk, creeping up on them like a sudden gust of wind.

Remus turns to see Severus Snape appear from the shadows, pale-faced and brooding, his nose lifted just enough to allow for his blatant dislike of people to seep through.

"Lupin," he says, the twitch of some condescending thought curving his lip. "Is this how we greet Order members now?"

"Only the new recruits, Severus."

"Well at least they've found you a job that fits your pay grade." With a flourish of his robe that is entirely too bat-like, Remus watches Severus sweep from the alley.

"Snape's in the Order?" Tonks says as soon as he's disappeared around the corner.

There's a tired and true familiarity in the way she all but spits the word _Snape_. Sort of reminiscent of Harry and for a second Remus finds himself stifling a laugh. "Indeed," he says instead.

"And we're sure that we're fighting for the right side? I mean, if Snape's in the Order—"

Remus chuckles openly this time and the ease of the laugh breaks them apart, only a step though, like they had been scorched by some invisible force that grew between them in their closeness.

"It's a complicated group," he says after a moment, using the leverage of his hands around her collar to bring himself back to her.

"Clearly." Her response is lacking; though he suspects by the way her brows arch that she is wondering if this is really the type of group she wants to get involved with. He hates to admit it, but he really hopes it is.

"So, where were we?" he asks.

"I think you were idly threatening me while I pretended to cower under your hardened stare."

"Well, I _am_ supposed to scare the new recruits."

"But, see, I'm not just your average witch. I don't scare so easily."

"Oh, no?"

She shakes her head. "In fact, I'm not just Tonks, but also Auror extraordinaire."

"That's awfully bold."

"Perhaps, though you haven't seen all my party tricks yet."

"Well, Ms. Auror Extraordinaire, I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

She purses her lips, something that fights a smile. "And who exactly are you? Besides the fine gentleman that apparently corners unsuspecting witches in alley ways."

"Remus J. Lupin. And were you really unsuspecting?"

She chuckles under her breath. "Not even for a minute."

The sound of her laugh vibrates against his neck and the wolf inside him is frantic. "Well then, I should probably get back to my idle threats."

"Yes, though I've found it easier in my experience to make threats from the other end of a wand."

He pales then, his eyes shifting down, and for the first time he sees that he is in fact gripping her coat collar with both hands now, instead of holding the end of his wand.

"Constant vigilance," she says in a growl that echoes Moody's and the rough purr in her voice stirs his chest and he can feel the wolf beating against his insides again. "Seems to me like you let yourself get distracted." She's tapping him gently on the chest with his own wand and tutting softly under her breath.

It's in this way that their positions are suddenly reversed.

Remus takes three steps back and Tonks follows, twirling his wand dangerously against his breast bone. He hits the wall suddenly and she staggers into him. Reacting on instinct, his arms close around her.

There's a moment of mingled breaths and wide-eyed glances that don't go unnoticed but get buried so quickly Remus is surprised he doesn't get whiplash when Tonks has suddenly removed herself from him and danced backwards half-a-step.

"Well, we probably shouldn't keep them waiting any longer." She ducks her head a little, whether to hide embarrassment or something else, then turns to him, a smile twisting her face as she places the edge of his wand against her lips, lost in some devilish thought. "Unless you need to frisk me too? And seeing as I've freed both your hands now . . ." She lets the thought trail.

She takes one step, leading herself out of the alley, and moves into the light of the street. He sees her plainly for the first time, recognizing the pink hue as the mess of hair that falls around her heart shaped face in delicate, looping waves. Her eyes sparkle a warm chocolate brown as the smile continues to split her face.

"So what about these other party tricks, then?" he asks, more for something to do than anything else because he thinks the staring might be becoming obvious.

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you."

But as she says it her hair turns a violent shade of purple. Remus blinks a few times to make sure he's seen it right and as he's squeezing his eyelids shut her stare becomes a blue blur and he catches his breath.

"Coming?" she says in a tone that is far too innocent for the sultry look on her face. She bites her bottom lip and raises her brow, hands in the pockets of her trench coat again.

Inside Remus can feel the wolf howling—a wild, fur-shaking explosion of energy—but all he manages is a small nod and a swallow, stepping out in front of her to lead the way to Grimmauld Place.

He thinks it is best not to say anything for the moment, until he's sure his voice won't come out as a pathetic squeak. After all, she's still twirling his wand teasingly between her fingers.

And maybe next time he'll listen when Sirius warns him that his cousin is a real piece of work.


	2. He Can Play Ball, He's Just a Bit Rusty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His gaze is questioning. He leans closer. "You seem to pay better attention when I have you pressed up against a wall."

As first meetings go this one has been banner, Remus thinks.

Severus has scowled, Sirius has scoffed, and Tonks . . . well, she looks far too amused for her own good, sitting in the corner beside a grumbling Mad-Eye, her knees pulled up to her chin, her pink, _pink_ hair waving down around her face. It really makes her eyes pop, Remus decides, noting that they've mysteriously changed from their sparkling blue back to warm brown (he'll think more on that later). He also decides he likes it before he has the common sense to stop thinking about such things.

Their scene in the alley still has him shaking, the wolf pacing inside now, urging him to move just a bit closer. He wants to be able to smell her again: vanilla and apple blossoms in early summer. To be able to see the gold flecks dusted inside those warm brown eyes. To feel her body pressed—

 _Well that is more than enough!_ He curses himself and the moon, his runaway thoughts, and the grumbling deep down in his chest.

The wolf likes her. Really likes her. And he just can help himself right now. She's intriguing and mysterious. Vibrant in ways that light up dreary Grimmauld Place. She's funny without meaning to be and bold and outspoken and just everything he is not. The wolf wants to get to know her.

And Remus does, too. It's the one thing they've agreed on in a really long time.

Across the table, Tonks twirls a wand between her fingers—his wand: unicorn hair, 101/4 inches, cypress—and he can't help but think she's about to break into a flamboyant drum solo with it. The cheeky grin she gives him immediately after that thought does nothing to reassure him to the contrary.

Sirius tips forward, nudging Remus' shoulder with his own, eyes narrowed. "Isn't that your—"

"Yes."

"Did she—"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell."

Sirius leans back in his chair again, feet propped on the table, the Prophet spread-out between his hands. There's a lopsided smirk on his face, like none of this surprises him, or maybe, because Remus knows him better, the smirk really means that Sirius thinks he got exactly what he deserved. "I'm mean, really," the ex-con says softly, carefully, like he's trying not to crack the delicate tone of his voice, "cornering young witches in alleys. What'd you expect?" His eyes shift across the Prophet, glancing at a headline about himself. His lips twist so far it almost looks painful. "And she is an Auror after all. You've got to be careful, Moony."

Remus simply huffs and sips his tea, the closest he's come to glowering at his friend in a long time, and the fact that it's over a witch brings back faded, time-warped memories of their fifteen-year-old selves. Sirius _would_ think this is a riotous laugh.

Remus waits for the meeting to end and then promptly makes his move: anything else would be admitting defeat to an entire table of witches and wizards who he'd rather not explain things to, especially the reason that he lost his wand to Nymphadora, a witch who barely manages to Apparate without falling over.

He grabs her arm again, the one hidden beneath the grey, oversized cardigan she wears, dragging her over to the corner of the room.

He shoots a disdainful look at Kreacher who scurries off mumbling obscenities.

The words merge with Tonks' as she hisses in reverse, a sucking sound that splits the air backwards through her teeth. "Would you stop that already?" she says, extricating herself from his grip. "I thought we already did this once."

His face softens, his determination to secure his wand no less resolute, but somehow forced to the back of his mind for the moment, though he's not sure why. "You should really get that taken care of."

"I will."

"Tonight," he urges. "It could get infected."

"I'm not worried about infection."

"A Healer could whip you up a fix."

"I don't fancy a date with a Healer at this late hour. They prod and poke and there's always a mountain of paperwork."

He takes pity on her then, her sweet, teasing face. The grace-less way she stumbles into the kitchen counter as she attempts to slip away from his hovering presence. The cut-off breaths she struggles with as he reaches for her arm again to steady her.

And that's how she ends up seated on the counter, Remus Lupin standing between her knees, her arm being gently prodded with a magical, silvery paste.

"So, when did you take up a secret career as a Healer?" she asks, examining his handiwork

"I've experienced my fair share of bumps and bruises," he says. _At least once a month_. "It was a handy thing to know."

"Hmm," she murmurs, sighing in silent relief as the sting of dragon breath slips from her mind. He's wrapping her arm now, her hand pressed flat against his chest as the gauze twirls around and around. His hands are warm through the cloth, his grip firm but no longer painful.

"You should really change these bandages tomorrow."

"Hmm . . ."

"Nymphadora, are you listening?"

"Yes."

His gaze is questioning. He leans closer. "You seem to pay better attention when I have you pressed up against a wall."

"Hmm . . . _WHAT_?" she stammers. The words are muffled because she thinks she's forgotten how to breath sometime during the last two or three minutes.

"Now I have your attention." His head turns down, dragging that cocky smirk with it, the better to see hers with. She's still shorter than him, even stacked upon the counter. "You're not going to change these tomorrow, are you?"

"I-yes . . . well, I do work and though I'll try not to get distracted, it may slip my mind for a time, who can really say?" _Is she rambling?_ Surely not. Tonks doesn't ramble. That's the one thing she can attest to. She says exactly what she means, exactly when she thinks it, whether it's an appropriate reflection of the situation or not. But she certainly doesn't ramble.

Foot in her mouth disease, sure. But gutter lips? Nope.

"Will you be here tomorrow? For Molly's lasagna?"

"That was the plan," she says, biting firmly on her bottom lip. _Let's try full sentences that actually stop._

He rolls the excess gauze into a ball and nods, gesturing to her arm once more. "Then it's a date."

"A . . . _what_?"

And somehow, while she's floundering like a fish with her mouth open, a hand sneaks into her pocket and retrieves the wand there.

Remus twirls it between his own fingers, relieved, satisfied, with the barest trace of a smirk on his lips. "Constant vigilance," he whispers, pocketing his wand and wrapping his hands around her hips. He gently slides her from the counter—his body far too close, his lips almost tangled in the hair at the side of her face—and deposits her on two feet. "Good as knew," he says, releasing a deep breath that smells of mint tea leaves.

She's still staring, gaping really, when he says goodnight, squeezes her shoulder, and leaves the kitchen. Her hips burn with a cold fire where he's touched her, like it starts in her bones and sears out from there.

 _Does she shiver?_ No, surely not. Tonks does not get unnerved like this. It isn't in her nature. It isn't . .  . _she's pretty sure he was inhaling her shampoo._ Her stomach twirls and she feels a blush touch her cheeks.

Sirius clears his throat, the sound making her jump.

He flaps the corners of the Prophet as he turns the page, looking up over his shoes which are still propped on the table. "I should warn you, Cuz, Remus really is a piece of work."

 


End file.
